


room service

by bigspoonnoya



Series: viktuuri have sex in canon [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, because you know they destroy those hotel rooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 15:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8898175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigspoonnoya/pseuds/bigspoonnoya
Summary: A hotel room in Barcelona.





	

**Author's Note:**

> god i'm so sorry about the title of this fic. i didn't mean to use puns for evil.  
> this is some viktuuri smut i wrote. it takes place during episode ten - specifically, right after the first scene, when chris and viktor return to yuuri and viktor's hotel room. it picks up immediately where the anime cuts away.  
> enjoy.... sorry about the pun... god

“Can you both _please_ get off of me?”

“Chris, get out of here!”

Viktor kicks at Chris and the second member of the Yuuri pile-on tumbles off the bed, but Yuuri is still very much pinned by Viktor himself, and his body is like ice. “ _Viktor_ —”

“You aren’t going to invite me to join you?” Chris says, grinning roguishly. The wet tendrils of Viktor’s hair obstruct Yuuri’s vision, but he still catches the look on Chris’s face. He’s kidding, but— _is_ he kidding?

Viktor releases Yuuri from his frozen clutches to get a better angle attacking Chris. “Be gone!” Viktor continues kicking until Chris scampers toward the exit.

“I see I’m not wanted. But if you reconsider, you know where to find me.” He gives them a parting wink. Yuuri finds himself squinting at the closing door.

“Did he want to…”

He glances at Viktor, who blinks rapidly, as if he hadn’t been paying much attention. “Oh—yes, he did. You weren’t interested, were you?”

“ _No_?”

“As I assumed!”

Yuuri rubs his eyes, thinking maybe he’s still asleep, and that this is a weird dream. Viktor hops up off the bed, rubbing his bare arms. Yuuri can see the goosebumps on his skin, and his damp swimsuit clings to his thighs.

“I must have a hot bath,” he announces, fleeing to the bathroom, though he leaves the door open and Yuuri spies his shivering, pale ass before he abruptly turns away. He’s no stranger to Viktor’s body, but he can’t dispel some nudity-related shyness. No one can be as open about nakedness and sex as Viktor, so why even try?

While Viktor bathes, Yuuri busies himself texting Phichit with an apology for standing him up at the Sagrada Familia.

Then, from the bath, “Yuuri.”

“Mmhmm?” he says, keeping his eyes on his phone.

“Come here.”

As soon as he reaches the doorway, Viktor stands up and steps out of the bath. Yuuri struggles to keep his eyes level with Viktor’s, because for whatever reason Viktor doesn’t seem to mean this as a flirtatious gesture. In fact, he’s frowning.

“In the interest of… I wouldn’t want you to find out from anyone else that Chris and I—”

“I know!” Viktor looks surprised, but Yuuri isn’t stupid, this isn’t his first Grand Prix. He’d heard the gossip a few years ago and never forgotten it, because it involved Viktor, and even back then it hurt to hear rumors about his latest conquest. “Can you put on a towel, maybe?” Yuuri adds, returning to his bed.

Viktor obliges and wanders after him, perching on the foot of the bed while Yuuri lies spread-eagled. He can feel Viktor’s gaze on him, quiet and patient.

“Thank you for trying to tell me,” Yuuri sighs. “You’re right, I wouldn’t have wanted to… not know.”

Viktor smiles. “It was purely physical.” _I don’t want to hear any more about it, no,_ Yuuri thinks. He has enough to feel insecure about right now. Viktor reaches for Yuuri’s leg. “Unlike this.” He rubs his thumb in a small circle on the inside of Yuuri’s knee, staring out the windows at the skyline, and Yuuri’s heart settles somewhat. Viktor shakes his head, as if ridding himself of some thought, and turns his full attention back to Yuuri. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous.”

“Already? You have all day tomorrow to get nervous.”

“I’m an overachiever when it comes to nerves.”

Viktor laughs lightly, musically. “We’ll have to do something about that, then, won’t we?”

Yuuri doesn’t have to ask for clarification, because Viktor climbs over him, settling between Yuuri’s legs and leaning down to kiss him. Viktor is warmer than he was minutes ago, toasty from the heat of the bath, and the towel around his waist comes loose enough to be meaningless. He feels good like this, warm and compliant, his tongue opening Yuuri’s mouth. He feels so good that it goes straight to Yuuri’s groin and, startled, Yuuri breaks their kiss. It’s still embarrassing, how quickly Viktor gets him there, just by being himself.

Not that Viktor has any time for his embarrassment. He’s already sliding down Yuuri’s torso, pushing his shirt off his abdomen. He peppers kisses along the sensitive skin there; more blood goes to Yuuri’s groin.

“Viktor—”

There’s a plea in his voice that draws Viktor’s attention away from his diligent work, and he looks up at Yuuri curiously. He must see the hesitation in Yuuri’s face. “You’re not in the mood?”

Yuuri nods—he has many things on his mind other than sex. He can’t bring himself to just, _be horny_. If he doesn’t clench that gold medal, for him and for Viktor, then what? He humiliates the love of his life with a performance designed to express that love—he’d be failing at loving Viktor, in the most literal sense.

Viktor gives him a sympathetic smile, but hiding disappointment behind a brave face takes the glint from his eyes. Yuuri can tell, and he feels _bad_. Here is, all worried about disappointing Viktor in the rink, and he’s disappointing him in their private life instead. He watches Viktor get up and begin sorting through his suitcase for something to sleep in.

“I’m sorry.”

Viktor pauses, and turns to look at him, serene. “No apology necessary.”

“I feel like I’m neglecting you.”

“Neglecting me! Oh—” A strange expression comes over Viktor’s face. Yuuri gets the distinct impression he’s missing something. “—I suppose that’s true. You _are_ neglecting me. My pressing sexual needs.”

Yuuri is taken aback by the—degree of forwardness in Viktor’s guilting. “I… I _am_ sorry?”

“Not sorry enough to get over yourself and fuck me, apparently.”

Yuuri’s mouth falls open, and Viktor’s towel falls off. Instinctively Yuuri clamps his hands over his eyes. “Viktor!”

“I really thought that would work,” he hears Viktor sigh, and there’s a _whompf_ to Yuuri’s left as Viktor falls back on to his own bed, still stark naked. “I’m trying to take your mind off skating. I won’t stop short of tricking you into forgetting.”

Yuuri gives Viktor a weak smile, hoping to console the massive pout on his face. Splayed out like that on the bed, it’s even more obvious what an incredible-looking man he is, every inch of him perfectly chiseled and refined, and Yuuri gets that weird giddy blip of delight he sometimes feels when he remembers that he is _with_ _Viktor Nikiforov_. In a _romantic capacity_. “It was a good attempt,” Yuuri murmurs, inching toward him. “You’re a good coach.”

“Some would call my methods unconventional.”

Yuuri grins. Viktor. _Mine_. That’s the first word that pops into Yuuri’s head.

Viktor— _mine_ , and this, really, the two of them here together right now, is the motivation for his entire season. Viktor, naked in a hotel room, kissing his stomach, asking to be fucked. _Eros. Love_. He sits here and lets nerves consume him while the competition could happen right here, right now. Tonight is a dress rehearsal—if he wins Viktor here, he wins them all on the ice. _Come on_ , says a voice in his head, egging him on. _Be_ that _Yuuri. Give him your best._

Viktor sits up and leans over to peck him on the lips, likely as a gesture of apology and forgiveness. But Yuuri seizes the opportunity to push him back on to the bed.

“What is this?” Viktor asks, as Yuuri throws a leg over his hips, though his grin suggests he knows exactly what it is, and he’s thrilled about it.

“Change of heart.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to be ravished?”

Sitting atop a completely naked, completely gorgeous Viktor in a poorly lit hotel room, nestled at the peak of a breathtaking tower in one of the world’s most romantic cities, itching restlessly with the desire to give an outstanding performance, it’s very easy for Yuuri to say, “No. Tonight we’re doing you.”

Viktor licks his lips. He has do-me lips, that’s the only way Yuuri can think to describe them in the moment. “No complaints here.”

Yuuri bends down to kiss him again, harder this time, dragging Viktor’s lip between his teeth and drawing a whimper out of him. It’s not like Yuuri is familiar with a wide variety of sex noises, but he has a good feeling that Viktor’s are the best you can find—exceptional, like everything Viktor does. In the back of his head, Yuuri settles on his goal for this night: to make Viktor make noise. Yuuri can’t help being… goal-oriented.

He dips down to suck at Viktor’s bare collarbone, and Viktor gasps above him. “Ah—I love bossy Yuuri.” Yuuri sucks and sucks, not satisfying with anything less than a purple mark against the perfect white plane of Viktor’s chest. Yuuri’s clothed hips buck against Viktor’s naked ones, and Viktor squeaks. Yuuri has nearly a full erection—it’s too easy when he’s with Viktor, always—and he feels a pressure against his thigh, which has to be Viktor’s hardening cock.

Once the hickey at the base of Viktor’s neck meets his expectations, he leaves a trail of wet kisses down Viktor’s chest, pausing to lavish attention on his nipples. Viktor whimpers rhythmically, a tiny sigh or squeak escaping him with each of Yuuri’s touches. The closer Yuuri gets to his hips, the more breathlessness leaks into Viktor’s sounds—he’s getting excited. Yuuri bites the inside of his hip and he moans. Yuuri slides halfway off the bed so his knees are on the floor, and Viktor scoots his hips to the edge of the mattress, making himself as accessible as he can. He’s rock hard now and not too far from Yuuri’s face, meaning he begins to writhe, as if trying to remind Yuuri of his most pressing need. And still, Yuuri takes another half a minute to kiss up his thighs before he loops his fingers around the base of Viktor’s shaft.

But even in assertive-sex-mode, Yuuri isn’t mean enough to taunt him for longer than that. It’d border on cruelty. He takes the tip of Viktor’s cock into his mouth.

And Viktor _wails_ , twisting his hands into his hair, and his back arches off the bed. Shocked, Yuuri pulls back.

“I barely even started!”

“The anticipation is too much. Please keep going.”

Yuuri approaches him again, a little of his mojo gone, but he quickly reminds himself what it is he set out to do. He slips his lips back around the tip of Viktor’s cock; this time Viktor less wails and more hisses. As Yuuri’s mouth takes in more of him, his breathing grows labored. Yuuri isn’t sure he has ever heard Viktor so affected by receiving head, and listening to it makes his own cock ache in his sweatpants. Yuuri starts to bob his head, like he has during every blowjob he’s given—even the first one, when he was still learning—but he knows that this time, something is different. He can feel it within his own motions, the way he can’t help dig his nails into the meat of Viktor’s thighs, and within Viktor’s tortured response. Yuuri speeds up and Viktor bucks into his mouth, then again. _Shit_. Yuuri squeezes his ass, encouraging him to keep going—he shouldn’t like having his mouth fucked, not when he’s supposed to playing _seme_ or whatever, but he can’t help finding it hot.

Then Viktor’s fingers wind into his hair. “Stop,” he gasps. Yuuri realizes that those fingers are trying to push him away, and quickly releases Viktor. The heat of the moment dissolves.  

“What’s wrong?”

“I wasn’t going to last much longer.” Viktor is panting. He gestures to his suitcase. “Get the lubricant.”

Yuuri obeys, though he feels stupid about it. What happened to _I love bossy Yuuri_? The front of his underwear has soiled with precum and it’s uncomfortable to stand and sort through Viktor’s things, but he finds the tube in with the toothpaste (which seems unsanitary, but he doesn’t want to have that conversation right now). Yuuri returns to the bed, where Viktor is lying back, getting ready to… get ready.

“No.” Yuuri is surprised to hear the word escaping his own lips.

Viktor frowns up at him. “No what?”

“I want you to come now.”

Viktor’s mouth falls open in surprise, and Yuuri likes that—surprising him. “You…”

That’s all for Viktor’s protesting. Yuuri slots himself between Viktor’s knees, dribbling lube on his fingers and palm. He feels himself smiling, maybe even _smirking_ at the persistent expression of heady awe on Viktor’s face. If there were ever a moment for him to become good at smirking, this is it.

They kiss roughly, quickly, before Yuuri goes to work. Viktor squeezes his eyes shut when Yuuri takes his cock in hand, and inhales deeply at the first few slow, firm strokes. Usually it takes him a long time to get Viktor off with just his hands, but like before, something about tonight feels different. Maybe it’s his nerves, maybe it’s Barcelona, maybe it’s thinking about what it means for a relationship to be _purely physical_ and thrive just on the propulsion of lust. But the air around them is supercharged and he feels everything doubly, and Viktor must too, the way he moans and thrusts into Yuuri’s hand.

To push him over the edge, Yuuri slides his free hand down and tests his finger against Viktor’s entrance, then slips it inside him. Viktor groans, twisting his face into the duvet, his hair a wreck and his cheeks reddened by stimulation. One of his hands fists the sheets, and the other keeps reaching for Yuuri, occasionally twisting into his shirt before losing grip. Yuuri can feel where sweat makes his own hair cling to his forehead. He can’t remember another time where one of them has stayed clothed so long with the other completely naked, but he likes it. The part of him that’s quietly possessive, so often curtailed by his reason and compassion, leaps at the chance to claim ownership over Viktor’s nakedness without offering any of his own.

By now he knows just how to work Viktor’s prostate. Viktor’s groans begin to climb into cries, _ah ah ah_ , and sometimes stumbling around the first syllable of Yuuri’s name, unable to complete it. The higher Viktor’s sounds get, the faster Yuuri moves the hand on his cock, and then his hips are jerking erratically as he comes on his own stomach. Yuuri pumps him until he’s empty.

Post-climax Viktor is a sight worthy of painting. His shapes (somehow soft and utterly masculine, gentleness and toned muscle), his colors (the flush in his cheeks, the paleness of his skin and hair, and bright eyes slicing through the room’s dim light). The gesture of him dragging a hand down his own neck, feeling himself, languishing in it. It makes you want to…

Make him come again. A thousand times, maybe.

Yuuri squeezes the front of his own sweatpants; he’d been so preoccupied getting Viktor there he forgot his own erection, but watching Viktor have his release made him remember his own needs, and how he’s neglected them. Viktor watches with half-lidded eyes as Yuuri pulls his shirt over his head, and shoves down his pants and underwear. The only thing he keeps is his glasses. Viktor had made it clear early on in their relationship that the glasses stayed during sex.

Viktor extends his arms up to Yuuri, a silent plea, and Yuuri obliges by crawling over to kiss him. They’ve lost a considerable amount of their deftness to lust, but any kiss with Viktor counts as a good kiss in a charged moment. “Yuuri,” Viktor murmurs against his lips, needy. All that and he wants more. “Yuuri.”

“Yes.” Yuuri tries to shift back down the bed so he can prepare Viktor more, but Viktor’s long arms latch around his shoulders.

“Yuuri—” Viktor pulls him into a tight hug.

Here is yet another thing that doesn’t usually happen when they have sex. Yuuri doesn’t know what to do other than hug back, as best he can, considering the weird positioning. “Are you okay?” he whispers.

Viktor’s hands slide around to take Yuuri’s face. Viktor smiles at him, a hazy, contented smile, one that makes Yuuri’s heart catch in his throat. “Yes.” Viktor cranes his neck upward and pecks Yuuri on the lips. “I’m quite happy right now.”

Yuuri doesn’t know what to say other than, “Oh.” He finds his cheeks are hot, not with the flush of exercise, but with a genuine blush. He’s—embarrassed. While they’re buck naked, about to have anal sex. Possibly the worst time ever for a wave of embarrassment.

Viktor drops his hands and falls back to the mattress, rolling his eyes. “Don’t let it keep you from ruining me, please.”

“Right!” There it is. Yuuri climbs down and gets to work preparing Viktor for said ruining.

They stopped using condoms a couple of months into the sexual component of their relationship, so once Viktor is ready, it only takes a healthy dosing of lube for Yuuri to be ready too. Viktor moves up toward the head of the bed, lying back, his legs spread—he knows Yuuri typically likes him on his back so they can look at each other. And it’s true that the intensity of eye contact during sex has a uniquely arousing quality for Yuuri. In his (handful of) previous sexual encounters, he’d always avoided it, because that intensity scared him. But their first night together, Viktor held his face, and forced Yuuri to meet his eye. Since then he’d felt addicted to the connection they achieved just looking at one another. He thought about it when he skated.

But again: tonight feels different. Everything is invigorated and invigorating. Yuuri has that ache in the pit of his stomach he gets when threatening with losing, and the adrenaline it provokes makes him stronger, bolder.

“Turn over.”

Viktor’s eyes flutter closed for a moment when he says it. He exhales, and obeys, flipping on to his knees. “Excellent.” Yuuri wonders how long he’s waited to hear Yuuri utter those words during sex, but regardless, they’ll both get what they want tonight.

With Viktor eagerly presenting his ass for the taking, stroking himself to get hard again, and Yuuri’s erection paining him for attention, they’re ready to start. But Yuuri takes a moment to lean over Viktor and kiss him at the crook of his neck. This’ll be rough, rougher than they’re used to, he can already feel the energy coiling in his hips. It seems important to remind Viktor of everything gentle that exists between them. Or to remind himself. It’s hard to say who the kiss is for, really, but it earns a soft laugh from Viktor, rattling him against Yuuri’s chest.

 Yuuri straightens up and brings himself in line with Viktor’s entrance. This part always makes him nervous. He could go too fast and hurt his partner, he could go too slow and seem to lack confidence or sexiness.

“Go ahead,” says Viktor softly. It’s ridiculous how well he’s come to know some of Yuuri’s quirks; he can be as observant as he is dense. Yuuri pushes an inch inside him, and a groan falls from Viktor’s mouth. Another couple of inches and he drops from his hands to his elbows, a pillow partly obscuring the sound he makes, saying something in Russian, maybe a swear. The need to move claws at Yuuri—Viktor feels incredible around him and going slow winds him up even more—but he keeps the pace even and lets Viktor adjust. Once his hips are flush with Viktor’s ass, he pulls out slowly, then presses in again at the same excruciating pace. Viktor’s labored breathing begins to even out, and that’s when he knows he can do more.

At first he allows himself just enough speed to begin satiating the pressure in his cock. He’s held this erection for a long time without doing anything about it, and even a little thrusting make his eyes roll into the back of his head. Meanwhile Viktor is—“Yuuri…” Moaning his name. “Yuuri.” He says it under his breath, and then progressively louder as Yuuri loses control of his hips and fucks him faster. It’s not that Viktor has never said his name before while they were together, just that he’s never said it quite this much, and with such gusto, like it climbed from the pit of his chest. “ _Yuuri—_ ” And Viktor beats his fist against the hotel wall.

“Stop,” Yuuri gasps, finding it hard to speak. But even harder would be dealing with a phone call from hotel management while he’s deep in Viktor’s ass—this wasn’t something he’d taken into consideration when he decided he wanted a noisy Viktor tonight. “Into the pillow.” He pulls himself over Viktor and tries to maneuver said pillow toward his partner’s gaping, drooling mouth. Even through the haze, Viktor manages to toss him a nasty look. Still, he snatches the pillow and bites into it, stifling a groan.

Yuuri lets himself go, now. Even the distant sounds of cars on the streets below and the hum of the radiator fade from his ears, leaving only Viktor’s pleasured whimpers when he starts stroking himself in time with Yuuri’s movements. Yuuri is close and needs stimulation, and his thrusts become shallow but ever more rapid. The pressure in his groin mounts, and _fuck_ , just a little more—a little something to push him over.

“ _Yuuri!”_ Viktor has popped off the pillow, and this is the loudest yet of his cries, essentially a _shout_. If Yuuri had his senses about him, he would scold, try to get him to muffle himself again, and wonder about the potential exhibitionist buried (or not-so-buried?) in Viktor. Yuuri is not bad in bed, but no one is _that_ good in bed. Shouts and screams are pornographic, performative sounds, and not ones Viktor has made in any of their previous nights together. He can’t be entirely faking it—you can’t fake the utterly wrecked expression on his face—but it’s still _suspicious_.

Except Yuuri doesn’t have his senses about him, so none of this occurs to him in the moment. All he gets is Viktor screaming his name, and shoving his ass back on to his dick, and then he climaxes. His vision goes spotty, the orgasm’s heat spreading over him, pooling in his fingers and toes. He curls against Viktor, his hips jerking, his fingers digging into the skin of Viktor’s back. It is a _big_ one, and it takes ages before he feels like he’s done, his own gasps filling his ears as if it were someone else’s noise, someone else’s blinding pleasure. He presses his face against Viktor’s shoulder blade. They’re both hot to the touch and damp with sweat.

He’s dragged back into the moment by the gentle rumble of Viktor’s voice: “That sounded nice.”

“Unf—sorry.” Yuuri tries to straighten up. He owes Viktor another orgasm, and he wants to do it like this, with him inside Viktor.

“Don’t be.”

The way Viktor says that is—sexy. It’s sexy, as hard as it is for Yuuri to admit, even to himself. That hesitation goes back to his pubescent hormones, how he’d lie in bed at night and his eyes would light on one of those stupid posters, and he’d… And it’s a bizarre thing to feel ashamed of after dating this man for months, but the past clings to him tighter than he’d like.

Anyway. Viktor’s voice is sexy. It gives Yuuri the push he needs to start moving inside him again.

He reaches around to pump Viktor’s cock himself now, and lets his other hand drift along Viktor’s body, toying with his nipples, running fingers through his hair. Yuuri’s thrusts are less rhythmic than before, but it doesn’t matter, since Viktor is half-riding him, anyway. Yuuri nips at his shoulder. Viktor swears in Russian again, and finally stiffens, coming by Yuuri’s hand for the second time tonight. He tries to say Yuuri’s name, but bites down on it and groans through his teeth instead, his performance falling away, leaving him exposed. He collapses forward, face in the mattress. That word rings in Yuuri’s head again: _Mine_. He watches Viktor heaving deep breaths, and traces his spine with a fingertip. _Mine_. Yuuri slowly pulls out.

Both light-headed from climax, they take turns in the bathroom, Yuuri first and then Viktor. Yuuri crawls into fresh underwear and a t-shirt while he waits for Viktor, who unsurprisingly joins him in bed completely naked. “Hello again,” he says, before smothering Yuuri in kisses.

“Why are you so ridiculous!” Yuuri is laughing, but he means it.

“I’m the furthest thing from ridiculous,” Viktor declares, though it’s difficult to believe him when he’s nibbling Yuuri’s earlobe.

“You don’t yell like that during sex.” Viktor ceases with his sweet nothings. “Not with me, anyway,” Yuuri mumbles, his stomach churning. His head swims with hormones and it’s easy to let his emotions get away from him. Suddenly he feels—awful.

Viktor pulls away from his neck and frowns down at him. “I don’t yell with anyone. I’m very civilized.” But he’s probably just saying that. The concern in his face seems genuine, and he carefully brushes his thumb against Yuuri’s lower lip. “You were having a good night. You could continue having a good night, if you let me order room service and take a brief—they call them _siestas_ here, I believe?”

A giggle fights its way out of Yuuri, despite his bad-feeling. “Wow. Viktor can’t go two rounds without a nap. You _are_ getting old.”

Viktor makes quite the production of gasping and guffawing at Yuuri’s joke, though it mostly goes over Yuuri’s head. A part of him longs to crawl under the covers and hide from Viktor’s gaze. “I have to say,” Viktor sighs, flopping back to his side of their makeshift double bed, “I’m glad you did me instead of the other way around. I could be feeling this for days. Imagine, losing the Final to…” He winces, wriggling his ass against the sheets, then notices finally that Yuuri is ignoring him. “Hello? _Lyubov moya_?”

Yuuri has yet to figure out what that means, but Viktor says it when they’re alone together, so it must be something endearing. He forces a smile. “Sorry. Hi.”

Viktor crawls toward him, and then partly onto him, resting his chin on Yuuri’s chest. “What is going on?”

“Just anxious still.” He tucks a strand of Viktor’s hair behind his ear. “I’ll be fine.”

Viktor hums thoughtfully. His reactions can be hard to gauge, sometimes, and Yuuri has no idea what to do with this one. “You are the most attentive and thoughtful lover I’ve ever had, you know.” And Viktor smiles a beautiful smile.

The knot in Yuuri’s chest loosens. What magic Viktor possesses, he doesn’t know—and he doesn’t know if Viktor says these things to preserve him or his skating. He doesn’t even know if they’re _true_. But he knows it works on him, and he’s grateful for that.

Viktor chuckles and taps Yuuri’s chin. “You say it back to me now.”

“Oh—Viktor, you are the most attentive and thoughtful lover I’ve ever had?”

“Why is it a _question_?”

“Because you know I’ve only slept with one other person!”

“Then it should only be more true!”

Yuuri can only shake his head and laugh. “Fine. It’s completely true.”

Viktor preens at the confirmation of his skills. “Good. Now I feel better about telling you why I made all that noise.” He lays his ear against Yuuri’s chest, purring happily. “I found out who has the room next door.”

“ _Viktor!_ ”

“Leroy will never sleep again. You can’t make me feel remorse.”

Yuuri gets stuck between horror and absolute hilarity, and tussles affectionately with Viktor in bed for a while, scolding him. But he might not be as ashamed as he should be, he realizes, picking up the room phone. “Yes—hello. I’d like to order room service?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> viktor calls yuuri "my love" in russian, FYI.
> 
> thanks for reading!


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